


fallen kingdom

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Heaven, Hell, Multi, falling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Companion. General. Uncrowned Queen. Prince of Nothing.So many titles and so little sanity, carrying them all takes a toll. It would take its toll on any person - angel, demon or human. There are little exceptions in this game she likes to play.Nobody else is playing with her, but that's okay too.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)





	1. prologue : when the sky falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so this is just for fun! i don't actually know much about theology beyond the basics and am completely creating this up as I go along. if u think I should change anything about it then drop it in the comments.
> 
> like I said this is a complete indulgence in a guilty pleasure of mine and its not meant to offend anyone. its nothing serious so please don't make it. thanks and have a good day!!

To say that, exactly, she had been powerful even before Falling, before she took up her place in the Dark Lord’s armies would not be _entirely_ wrong. It would also be completely wrong to mark her down as particularly important in the grand scheme of Hers. Soriel - as she had once been Named, a long time ago - had been the closest to the archangels who ruled and learnt at Her knee.

That was it. Nothing else, apart from her exceptional skill with an angelic staff and her half-mad schemes that worked every time. 

Soriel - her old self, she reminds herself steadily, unfaltering - had been the closest with the Dark Lord and maybe Raphael too, before he had left for the stars at the sight of even the slightest unease. She had sat at his knee as he had sat at Hers, giving orders and spinning webs of wonder.[1]

She had listened to him as he had ranted about Her, as he had muttered his defiance beneath his breath. She had listened and waited and listened some more, and if she had had any, her hands would’ve been clasped in her lap. Waiting.

“Perhaps.” Soriel-back-then had said, mindlessly pulling at the fabric of her latest creation. “You should ask.”

(it had been something for earth, a leaf or whatnot, so many things needed to be done and by hand too since She had wanted everything perfect.)

And he had. It had sparked it all, the war, the Fall. Of course, it hadn’t been _right_ then, it had been very much gradual and over the creation and before - see the official Offical plans hadn’t been laid out, not even for the archangels, but there _were_ official plans - of the Garden. 

But if one was to point out the very beginning of it all, she would say it was there.

Soriel had been very much the Spymaster of it all, working from the shadows and waiting for her curtain call, her grand finale. Even back then, in Her domain, she had thought that she, _they_ could win. She had been respected amongst the rebels, even back then, the Dark Lord’s constant companion.

It hadn't lasted long - not the respected stuff, that stuck even now, _especially_ now. The _constant companion_ stuff. Their friendship (how odd to call it that, even now) had turned to once-in-a-while to talk-maybe-once-we-get-the-chance. It hadn’t been his fault, either, or hers. It had just, happened.

It _just_ happened, just like Falling happened one day. 

It was a normal day in Heaven. Well, if you counted the bashing of celestial swords against each other, angel against angel, sibling against sibling. So odd against the old order. The Dark Lord had been fighting against Michael and near him were some of his closest military commanders - the to-be-Beezelbub going toe-to-toe with some of Heaven’s greatest warriors, Dagon cracking through lines with her wild men like wind, if there had been any.

Soriel herself had been leading a contingent over the Wall. The mighty Wall that would lead to Her, to victory.

They had been half-way over it, even now she can feel it beneath her fingers as they blasted their Holy Fire at it. _Again,_ she had barked out, swinging wildly at the approaching angels. From the back, she could see Uriel - barely out of their fledgeling years, easily taken down, [2].

 _More!_ she had yelled as she prepared to face the youngest archangel in battle. It wouldn’t have been much of one if she had gotten the time to go against the little fledgeling. The words had burnt hot on her tongue, as she battered off one final angel, slicing through them like all the rest.

Soriel-back-then had circled Uriel, who had been so determined, it had charmed her. _Come now, little fledgeling,_ she would have smirked if she had a mouth, Soriel circled her, _I am not so cruel._

Going up against them to the death had never been the plan, only to buy time. She could hear the falling debris of the Wall behind her, the victory tasted sweeter than anything she had ever wondered, brilliant and Uriel had begun to speak-

If there had been a reply, she hadn’t heard it because above her were underlings blasted at the Wall, had just exploded. Her wings had shot out to protect her from the blast, burning against the flames. She had screamed - yes, she had screamed - but she could remember, so clearly, so starkly against the battle and bloodshed, the archangel’s eyes.

Not so full of victory - _Michael’s would be_ , she thought bitterly - but fear. 

That would haunt her, even as they met again, as the world, the only world she had ever known crumbled around her. Uriel hadn’t said a word, frozen to their spot, grasping the handle of their sword. 

Something transpired between them and she gave the angelic version a smile as she toppled through, fire eating at her wings. It was not returned.

She Fell.

  
  
  


Falling was not something she could put into words - into tangible language.

There were others too, launched through the air, through the crumbling gates of Heaven and down, and down and _down_ -

She burned, brighter than any star and hotter than the fury of Her. She felt it, the Almighty, as her anger burnt her down to her smallest form and began to build her back up again. It pulled at her material form first, her feathers of her wings turning blacker than the void.

Then it reached her immaterial form. She had never felt such agony, she never wished to feel such agony. It yanked at it, shaping it this way and there, wrapping around and retreating - never fitting quite where it belonged.

She pulled away, satisfied but not sated and Soriel called out desperately, _come back, don’t leave me here, please, don’t-_

The Almighty left her abruptly, in a hurry, and took everything else with Her.

They land in pits of sulfur and shaking flames. She's sick of fire, is her only thought as she scrambles up to shore. She’s quiet as she does so, one of the first to land, and makes her way there with ease.

Soriel pulls herself up onto the shore, feeling rather achy and reshaped into something, not her. She pushes out a hand, human form, like her chosen form from Before. Except, it’s not. She races to pull at her uncharred parts, running a hand over pale skin.

Scars, raised so perfectly, in Enochian. They spell out something - she can’t see it, not with the lava-sulfur dripping down her eyesight but from the visible ones spell something along the lines of _cur._ It’s incomplete

Soriel traces up to her face, wiping away residue as she does. It sticks to her hair and she bites her lip as she works her fingers through jerkily. Strands fall against her shoulder, blending in with her wings-

The pit in her stomach drops as she grasps hurriedly for her hair. White, how _stereotypical_ , her pride and joy. Nausea would rise if it was possible for it too as she screams, fingers curling in black strands. It falls against her shoulder, cut roughly to her shoulder.

She screams some, then a bit more, and stops.

She breathes in, curls her wings around her, and watches more demons fall from Heavens. She breathes in, and watches as they splatter and scream and fight. It’s calming, in a terrible, brutal sort of fashion. It slows her, just for a second.

Back Before, she would have mourned them. Would’ve sat at her step and turned her head away, to not watch. Instead of sadness, there’s an empty pit where her pity should be. It’s gaping and hollow and the more snarling faces she sees crawl up the shoreline, the more she thinks she’s not the only one.

“Old friend.” A hand lands on her shoulder, gnarled and twisted with claws that are breaking. She smiles at the face she meets. It’s not her old friend, not anymore, something’s taken that place and curled it around his consciousness but she’s not Soriel anymore, is she?

She pulls herself up with tumbling grace as she struggles to adjust. He does not help her, not as he should have, and she’s grateful for it. It settles oddly on her chest and she lets it lie, trying to come to terms with this new strange feeling.

“What do I call you now?” She asks. It’s out of instinct, something deep within her that swings back and forth and rises unease. 

His eyes glint, red. “Lucifer.”

She tilts her head. Perhaps, that despite the gap that had formed between them, something could be restored. That same tug-pull that had made them friends could rebuild them again. She runs an eye over the crawling, swarming demons. “Leimor.”

* * *

[*] Even then, she had _known_ angels. Specific angels with specific tasks, from creating the stardust or being in charge of managing lower ranks. It had helped, a lot, and most of them she had swaying (or Lucifer had swayed) to the side of the rebels.

[**] It had been a surprise to see Uriel fighting. Not very well, mind you, compared to some of the warriors who had been unleashed upon each other. Uriel had been only a fledgeling under Michael's wing last time she had seen them, barely out of the nest. It was almost as strange as hearing about Gabriel running _messages_ of all things through battles - practically half a fledgeling himself.


	2. tree of knowledge

Trying to pull Hell together is hell. 

As she snaps at another, confused demon who had Fallen with a group earlier, she storms her way up to the gathering. The Dark Lord gathers them and despite his outward appearance, his charisma hasn’t dwindled. Demons flog to him, circling him.

“Move.” She shoves roughly. The smooth cadence of her voice is off, rougher and gritter, choking on every other word. She barely spends them a second stare as they gape at her, slit eyes staring blankly. New demons then, just what she needs. More and more Fall every day, banished from Her grace.

( _uriel’s eyes, fearful, scared, is this what we’ve become-_ )

She scrambles up to her place, nodded to Dagon [1] who only grimaces back. The angel-turned-demon had been one of the last Fallen from the last battle to arrive and was looking rather rough around the edges. Trying to gather all the leaders of the rebels is a trying task Sori- _Leimor’s_ been given.

She does it anyway, using her old contacts and keen eyes. Leimor has summarised that something is terribly off about them - maybe it’s the sticky sulfur that should’ve come off or something else she can’t see - but people flinch back with every sharp gaze she gives them.

“Leimor.” She’s beckoned, taking a clawed hand. She’s under no impressions that her old friend is being kind.

Lucifer addresses the crowd, voice bright as if this was another one of his gatherings in Heaven as if this was Before. He goes on and Leimor finds herself scrutinizing the crowds, searching.

Perhaps one of her brothers Fell.[2]

The thought is swept away immediately and she digs her nails into her fist, wincing as they clench on fresh scars. The markings she Fell with don’t hurt, permanently branded, but every new one that appears - and they do, day by day - takes a short time to scar over.

She lands on the cheering demons who holler and shout. Eager things, they are, she begins counting them nonchalantly. Her main duty Before was making creations for the garden, creating planets from stardust but serving was long ingrained in her. Ever since her Creation.

_Seventy hundred, ten thousand, one hundred and thirty-six…._

They roared their approval of their new king.

_Seventy hundred, forty thousand, one hundred and thirty-six…._

She hides her displeasure of their eagerness behind a blank mask as she scans. Leimor absently notices more still tumbling down to the depths, wings out and burning black.

_Eighty hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-_

She’s not even halfway through the crowds and coming when her once friend pulls back from the awed crowds, walking through the shambling palaces of Hell. It’s nothing like Heaven’s grand infrastructure with curved engraved arches and glistening pools and gardens. 

A palace stands, looming, blank. [3]

“Come with me.” He asks her under his breath. 

She tears a random demon from the crowds, whispers a number to them, and shoves them upon a slightly elevated pedestal and tells him to _count_ or they’ll lose their toes. Leimor peers up at him. Even now, taller than her.

“Come with me.” He asks again although it doesn’t feel like a question. “Stand at my side, we would be great together, Leimor.”

Something about the way he says it leaves a ba-good taste in her mouth and she runs her tongue over his teeth. “What would you give me?” Leimor asks as they walk.

She's careful not to test any boundaries, to keep everything as still as a sea without current. In truth, holding a position of power is a welcome idea, a brilliant one, but asking for it feels like crossing a new line that has been drawn in the sand.

“As anything you want.” He says and it feels like a terrible promise to take, like holding a celestial blade in bare hands burning and searing her form-

Leimor doesn’t know what this is. Between them, and she can’t voice it. There isn't a name for it, not in any language she knows. Was this just a nod to their past friendship?

( _was it more?)_

“Alright.” She says.

  
  
  
  


She's given the title a Prince of Hell. She rules over nothing and nobody but it’s the title that matters and _nobody_ , nobody has forgotten the fight at the Wall. Her contingent seeks her out, claiming council, as they do. They lay prostrate at her feet and she shivers, feeling strangely eked out.

“Up!” Leimor says urgently. “Get _up!”_

They scramble to their feet. She can barely remember their names. Leimor hadn’t worked with them for long, keeping the longstanding position of hooking through networks of angels, but as the battle dawned she had taken a small set of spare soldiers and slammed them into the Wall.

One of them foams at the mouth, another looks rather out of place with five limbs that are spindly and roaming. They all smile, mouths empty of teeth.

“We wish to serve you, my Prince.” One of them, with blue scales and open sores over her palms and eyelids, says. They all make similar sounds of agreement.

Leimor breathes in and then out, drawing up that empty pit within her. It covers all things and her contingent flinch back. In the back of her mind, she marks it down and crosses her legs over her makeshift throne. “Then _serve_. Impress me.”

The next day, they seek out a small castle for her. She inducts them into her newly-created service.

  
  
  
  


“I have an idea,” Lucifer says to her after ending a short meeting in the new council room. Things are coming together now, no longer scrambled and mixed, and he begins to put his mind to other matters.

“Is it to do with the Garden?” Leimor asks. It’s not out of curiosity, she can see the beginnings of a plan in his eyes, she knows. “There’s a gap down by the northernmost wall if you want to get in. Burn it to the ground, if you want.”

Lucifer’s red eyes glitter again and she feels excitement whirl around her like an old friend. “ _She’s_ put them in the Garden.”

Ah, that’s it then. Leimor glides along, snapping her teeth at a stray demon who had the misfortune of stepping into her path. She can feel his amusement behind her, beaming off him in rays. “Rather more than apes, really, weren’t they? What were they to be called again, Adam and Eve?”

“Shouldn’t _you_ know?” He snarks with a harder edge. “You helped make it.”

Refusing to flinch at the reminder of her past job, she curls her lip. “Make it, yes, make _them_ no. That was your sibling's job-”

She slams against the wall, the stone-cold beneath her. Leimor digs her nails into the wall, feeling dust fall away from where she cracks it. Her fingertips burn with more than just pain as fire buzzes at their tips.

“Do _not_ -” Lucifer heaves, his claws ripping through the thin fabric she wears effortlessly. Leimor doesn’t hesitate, never has really, as she feels pleasant heat ripple up her hand.

She blasts him across the corridor with a swing of her fist. He lands in a heap, surrounded by broken debris and tangible anger in the air. It tastes sour. Leimor can’t see any visible injuries but she moves into a defensive position. 

“You haven’t changed much.” Her old friend says, pushing to his feet. Leimor doesn’t relax as he stretches out, keeping a steady stance. 

Leimor purses her lips. “Neither have you.”

There’s an empty silence between them, falling through the cracks and crevices. She wonders if it reaches those on lower floors. Her foot slides forward just so and her old friend turns back to walk.

Trepidation replaces excitement but her mind is whirring with the thought of the Garden, with a choice laid in front of her. She could resist, return to her shabby little castle her contingent took for her, run a network or she could join him with the plan that is already inside her head.

She doesn’t relax as she falls into step. 

“I am King.” It’s a blatant fact he states. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move her eyes from where they’re trained on the floor. “You _will_ respect me, Leimor.”

“I do.” She replies.

He lets out a sound, somewhere between satisfaction and anger that hasn’t dissipated. Yet, he doesn’t move to attack her even as she slowly, lets herself calm. They walk past brawling demons who scrape at each other’s eyes like the world's ending.

( _it has, for them, nothing will ever be the same-)_

“I will go - to Eve.” He iterates finally as they turn down an already broken staircase. Leimor steps around the obvious hole, picking up the fabric that weaves around her form as not to trip. “You will come.”

“They will guard it, you do realise?” She almost flings herself forward, grasping onto the crackling bannister.

“Obviously.”

She doesn't skip a beat as she slides down smooth stones. “They will have Holy Fire and trained guardians from the War. It has not been as long as we like to think.”

“Will you come?” He asks her again.

There’s a hidden offer in there. Again. She diverts her eyes, more out of confliction that respect as she rejoins his steps. “The humans - they will not trust us. They will be warned.”

There's a pause and Lucifer sounds somewhat desperate this time, but he doesn’t turn, his face doesn’t move. “Will you come, Leimor?” 

( _this is worse than Falling-uriel's eyes-but on Her name, this is worse-)_

“Yes.” She says.

  
*  
  


They reach the wall under the cover of clouds that span five miles and spew hailing water. Lucifer trails behind her as she marks out her old path which has been knocked askew by the new wildlife and growing plants. It’s strange to be in a place of so much life. How long had it been?

“Down the side here.” She places a hand against the wall. “I used to sneak in to finish the work.”

“Finish?” He asks.

For all their years as friends, Lucifer had never grasped the idea of abandoned projects too complicated for lower-ranking angels to complete. Granted, Leimor had never been close to his status but she had been smart and well-taught, so completing them had been her self-assigned duty. It left their superiors in a much better mood.

“She didn’t like angels going in without her watch.” She explains as she prods at the wall, searching and searching - _come on_ , it’s not that hard to find.

Lucifer lowers his tone. “We came all the time-”

She resists the urge to snap and takes a moment to calm, to let the world go by before- “She trusted you more than us, even Before.”

 _Probably After_ , she leaves unsaid.

The peaceful, growing atmosphere they had been constructing together falls apart as she pads around the ground. _C’mon_ , she pries, adding more weight. It had been far too long since she came here. His anger begins to crackle in the air and Leimor knows an outburst is coming as she hurries her efforts along-

The ground falls in beneath their feet and her would-be heart shoots into her throat. In front of them is a series of tunnels and Lucifer’s anger snaps away, replaced by the sweet-sour tang of _victory_.

“Most of them are sealed, we made them just after the foundations, to not disrupt the land too much. All done by hand.” She whispers into his would-be ear. “You might need to…”

She makes a vague gesture at his appearance and he frowns at her. “Why?”

“Humans are different, you know.” Leimor reaches through the tunnels, checking the faded and fading symbols. “Well, should be. Only heard whispers.”

“What whispers.” He grits out.

 _Oh_ , is what she doesn’t say. One, because it’s not an answer and two, because she’s completely stumped at the fact she or anyone else had never mentioned it. She begins quietly, avoiding his eyes. “That they were never to see us. Only to know we existed, and that She did too. Well, they would worship her and we would help them from the shadows.”

A sullen silence rings out beneath the deserted tunnels as she checks them one by one. She’s careful not to step in any of the traps that might or might not be disabled. At the very least, Leimor’s glad she knows that they exist.

“So, I _hide_?” He sounds outraged. It’s a bitter sort of anger that he carries, that all of the Fallen carried, tucked just between that empty spot and bright, hot cruelty. Leimor doesn’t even flinch this time, bracing herself for a long, long rant.

Leimor smiles slightly in spite of the depressing topic. It almost feels like when they would pull pranks on Michael, watching as she tried to ring out that strange goop from her wings or when she would sit with Raphael and Lucifer in the stars, watching the two bicker over their colouring.

But it’s not, because that vacant spot waits willingly, open to the universes’ occupants to poke at it like an open wound. Leimor can feel it on _him_ too, even though he’d deny it within an inch of his life.

“This one.” She announces.

He eyes the hollow space warily. “They’re all the same. Why this one?”

 _So many questions_ sits at the tip of her tongue. Leimor tugs him down the tunnel, fingers running along with the trace amounts of her angelic essence that still lingers. “It’s mine.” She smiles. “I made it.”

“You… infused yourself." It's not a question, but a statement. Anyone could feel it, although only certain beings could link it back to Leimor. He seemed awed. [4]

It’s been too long since she’s heard that tone of voice - just before the Fall when she had gathered angels that had been spread too-far-out across the stars. A loophole, in Her orders, that had allowed her to recall them

Leimor pulses, feeling power begin to drain out of her. “It powers the Garden, unwittingly. Our remnants keep water flowing and birds singing. She created it but we fuel its wonders. Even now.”

The King of Hell goes to say something but Leimor places a gentle hand on his arm as she pulses out, stronger.

She reaches out, out _out_ , to the walls she helped build to the plants infused with her energy, pulling on it as her surroundings begin to blur out. She can hear… something, but she’s so spread out that the coherent speech and wild sounds muddle together. It creates an odd harmony.

Leimor chases the speech, knocking out too distant pieces and zoning in on the ones in hearing range.

“...tonight.” The voice is light - there’s a hand on her hip and she jerks it off murmuring something she can’t hear- and breezy. She can’t see, she’s a… plant, a leaf, but eavesdropping is her refined skill.

A deep voice laughs, full of energy. She rejoices in it. “Maybe. Have you-?”

A girl - yes, a woman - giggles back, her footsteps heavy as if she’s carrying something. There’s a moment where she almost trips forward but the man, assuming, catches him. Leimor allocates the names accordingly, _Adam and Eve._

They chatter meaninglessly about something that she doesn’t quite understand. She tries to decipher it - something about a _baby, inside her_ and _nine months_. She doesn’t know what this means but records it mentally anyway. 

They begin to fade out of her hearing, the closest they come is when Eve stomps too close and her body jolts as the thud echoes throughout her hearing. She frowns in her body as she begins to amble through her creations.

She keeps going until she’s merely a blade of grass upon the ground. The world hums it’s disagreement as she keeps holding on. It shakes her to the core as the fire burns-

She tears herself out of the creation- _her_ creation, her energy, let me _back in_ \- and turns sharply. Lucifer is standing behind her, on alert. She begins to open her mouth when they hear the vague sounds of yelling.

“We need to go!” Leimor states the obvious as she turns on her heel, lighting up her fist with Hellfire and bolting down the hallway. If Lucifer doesn’t follow, then she’s not coming back-

She slams into the wall as she senses an angel around the corner. Its angelic grace radiates off them in waves, pooling around them. It holds a flaming sword in hand as she approaches the dank corner slowly, feet sliding over dirt silently. 

The tunnels are winding. The tunnels are long and almost endless. The tunnels were her domain. 

“Demons.” Another angel arrives to back the other up. The first angel, the light-blonde haired one who looks rather spooked to be fair, jumps.

She turns back to look where she came from. Lucifer stands in the shadows, eyes dull and fading into the darkness. Leimor flicks a wrist - _im here, i see you, wait, wait_ \- at him and he narrows his eyes. Reading the message sent she jerks over to the angels. 

_Oh_.

“Are you rather sure they’re here?” The blonde angel asks - a cherub, she notes down, how odd.

“Can’t you smell them?” The other one asks, dark-haired. The darker haired one sniffs the air and Leimor shifts her energy throughout the room. She slumps slightly as it expels across the area, readily mingling with her angelic power that already sits, exhausting part of her essence. 

Both of the angels wrinkle their noses.

Leimor slides further down the tunnel, past the crossroads she had just darted past in haste. She won’t get out this way, but she doesn’t _need_ to get out this way. She slinks back into the darkness and down and down-

It’s only after she can hear the angels muttering dim to a dull hum that she shoots out her leg, watching the stone and dirt fall down like the Fallen. A crack echoes throughout the tunnels as she darts down. Another crossroads would be here if she’s traced it right.

She hears an angel hiss to another, _go, go there!_ as she barrels through the tunnels. Leimor readies to slam into a wall at any time, hopping over a hidden trap with expert precision. She crashes awkwardly into hewn stone and she can feel her jaw crack angrily.

Leimor crouches in front of the stone, cradling her broken jaw. In the War, she had never spent enough time on the front lines to get seriously hurt, only scrapes and bruises from mistimed strikes. Her bone pulses as the angels burst up into the tunnel.

“There!” One of them yells. She doesn’t care who.

Kneeling in the dirt, dark and filthy, she waits for them to trip over the wire that's placed so subtly that she would’ve slammed straight into it even if she knew where it was. Leimor tries to heal her jaw back together - it kneads and knits, pulling together slowly.

There’s a short snap in the air, which hangs horrifyingly. One of the angels, the Cherubim with white-blonde hair, lets out a low-pitched sound of horror. Leimor pulls herself up to her knees as her injury tries to heal hurriedly. 

Fire whips up her fingers, winding up her hands and decorating her sulphur-halo in a darker fire that burns fiercer than its counterpart ever had. The Cherubim holds their flaming sword, bracing for battle.

She doesn’t have the energy to waste, killing this angel. With every second she spends, keeping herself spread out across the tunnels, feeding flames and healing hurts, she grows wearier. 

“Move,” Leimor says softly, smiling sweetly ( _-like she did at Uriel_ ). “And I’ll spare you.”

She can’t kill them but maybe if she could just… nudge them, a bit. 

“You’re a demon. You’re not allowed to be here!” They say, obviously. She snarls and throws out her hands, fire spilling from her palms. It doesn’t hit him but the force of it slams him into the wall before he can even swing his sword. 

Leimor watches him go down, not discorporate, and after two or three seconds, she slumps against the wall. It’s still not safe and surely they have gathered reinforcements but a few spare moments won’t go amiss. 

The world goes by.

The fire on her hands go out first, without fuel to keep it burning and her essence fades away, returning to her form but the bones in her jaw keep cracking as they slide together. Her tenuous grip on her form is beginning to slip as she wavers in and between the realities. 

Using one last shred of power, a backup if you will, she searches for him, for his calling. She runs through the tunnels they used and finds it, burning fiercely as he fought head-on with another angelic presence. More are beginning to gather atop the walls and behind them, in these tunnels, neither of them can return to Hell.

It’s not that they’re stopping them leaving, angels without significant power couldn’t stop the King of Hell and the General at the Wall (she’d been given that name by one of her more loyal soldiers just Before) leaving without a trace.

No, it’s not the angels themselves but the runes that are carved into the ground. Originally meant to keep the rebels out Before, and more adventurous animals _in_ , they are the only barrier between Hell and Earth.

Leimor steels her shoulders and breathes a sigh of relief as her bones finally stop cracking together. Before, it would’ve taken only a thought and her form would’ve rearranged itself, but it’s jarring coming from Hell to Earth.

Trying to adjust to the new environment is like those first days after Falling, when her new human-shaped form kept weighing one side too much or when her voice failed her, ruined by gathering sulfur and ash.

She uses the walls to lean against as she searches for Lucifer. Her immaterial form is beginning to ache.

Springing out without her permission, her wings batter against the walls. Too much, it’s too much to hold everything in place and not suffer consequences. Leimor can’t go back for him, she slides against the wall, hitting the ground.

She breathes in and white ash spins out. 

Leimor isn’t sure how long she sits there for, how long it takes until everything fades to white noise. She doesn’t really care.

Somebody’s calling her.

Somebody’s _Calling_ her, looking for her. She moves to reply but she can’t get herself to form the words in Enochian. They’ve started forming their own bastardized version, down in Hell, she thinks blearily. Everything’s blurring.

Leimor feels herself be hoisted and can hear someone talking in a deep rumbling, she stumbles through the tunnels. Somewhere, Her fire burns and seeks them out. She hides away as it gets closer, scrambling out of reach by instinct-

Her world switches dramatically, like a switch, and she slumps forward as power flows back into her body. It’s rejuvenating and she clings to the grounds of Hell like it’s a lifeline, even though her nails crack against the hard earth. _Again_.

There’s a familiar clawed hand resting on her shoulder, except there are no claws on it this time. Leimor topples back to the ground as she tries to look up, but the world blurs around her.

She takes a while to come back to herself, her wings flopping over her body. She’s wearing armour still, plastered with dirt and the tinge of grass. It’s not armour like what some of the Princes wore into battle, it’s more of what she Fell in.

“Leimor?” He asks again.

“What happened?” She keeps herself pressed to the ground. Even the thought of moving makes the world spin backwards. 

Lucifer is sitting beside her, still. “You almost exhausted yourself, I brought you out of the tunnels before the rest of them barged in.”

She _hmms_ appropriately. In her memory, it blurs a bit, her arm slung over his shoulder as he hauls her through the tunnels. The outside of the Wall as he brings them both back. She chuckles ironically. “Guess we can’t go back?”

“...not exactly.” 

She makes noise. “Two of us can't, need something smaller. Sneakier.”

Leimor jolts terribly as his hand lands on her primaries. It's still and unmoving, but it feels like forever ago when they were still in Heaven. Sparks ripple up her shoulder as he waits. _What for,_ something within giggles.

"I'll check the lists[5]." Her feathers twitch. "'n' then I'll let you know." 

His hand leaves her wing where he had been stroking her blackened feathers. Leimor turns to face Lucifer, who stands in a newer, brighter form that aches to look at. She doesn’t have the energy to ask. 

“Find out.” He says. Lucifer steadies himself, shuffling his wings which are bright and glorious - still the Lightbringer, even after the Fall. He pauses for just a moment, “After you…”

She hums again, pushing herself up on her hands as she clicks her jaw. She does it again, listening to it pop and then again before nodding absently. Leimor flops against the ground, her wings to the ground as she presses her palms into her eyes. 

He leaves without a word, his feet crunching against the ground. She waits until he’s out of her earshot to open her eyes, still humming absently. It’s an old tune, a misshapen hymn she had mangled once during the war. 

Leimor tries to take in her surroundings but the colours smudge together and it aches to look at anything but the hollow sky. She reaches up, a moment of weakness that she’ll curse herself for later, and whispers to nobody to _take me back_.

The silence is an answer enough.

“Alright.” She whispers.

  
  
  


Leimor swung her legs over her throne - a proper one, this time, instead of that shabby one she had held just to the side of the Hall of Blood. It hadn’t been called that when she had sat there, just one of the many buildings that were being constructed. 

“Prince?” 

She snapped out of the stupor that had begun to overtake her, scraping her fingers into the already-indented throne. “Yes…” Leimor looked down. “..Valefar?”

“Brought the demon you asked me to find.” A bunch of sharp complaints come from a bag that squirms, unlike a bag should. Valefar looks up at her with a biting smile, that she returns, and Leimor gestures to empty it. “The snake Crawly.”

Leimor watches with budding curiosity. Most demons had been cast down with forms of combined animals, of twisted corporations and burnt - and usually unusable - wings. This one had kept them, apparently. 

She hadn’t counted them all herself, in the end, but the snake had Fallen in the second wave, which she _had_ counted. Leimor had only started noticing the permanent damage done - or complete lack-of wings - on many of them. She had interrogated most of them thoroughly, even though they looked half gone from shock and pain.

The snake wiggled out of the bag - big, very big and most likely venomous. It had wide eyes as it slid aimlessly around until Valefar placed a single clawed foot on its body, stopping it in its tracks.

“Crawly.” She interrupted the forming silence that was crowding the room, a sickening smile of her face. “Our Lord has use of you.”

Leimor watched him squirm, leaning back against the armrest. It dug into her back. “You understand what this means, don’t you?”

After they Fell, Lucifer had taken immediate control as a figurehead of the rebellion but that hadn’t meant there weren’t competitors for the throne. In the days after their first venture into Eden, demons had struck at the weaknesses they thought existed with ambition in their hearts.

Well, let’s just say, they hadn’t ended up on the Dark Council.

“Luckily for you.” She drawled, pointing a cracked and bleeding finger at him. “You deal with me instead.”

An ominous silence filled her hall as she fiddled absently with her own hair. Leimor missed parts of her that she lacked now, like the lack of brand over her chest or the empty weight that had sat on her head. 

She didn’t know if it was sulfur, but whatever it was, was a deep shade of luminous blue and kept dripping down her face endlessly.

The snake wriggled. “It would be an honour to sssseerve.”

She pursed her lips together, pulling together an unimpressed demeanour as she clicked her jaw. Leimor could do that now. It unnerved demons when she did because her jaw would shift out of place before being yanked back, leaving a rather creepy image even amongst them. 

She let the hall’s mood drip even more.

“Good!” Leimor sprung up suddenly, relishing in their fright. She shifted her legs back to the floor as she changed position on her throne. It didn’t really serve a purpose but to make her look scarier. All alone upon a pedestal. “Go to the Garden and tempt the humans, make Her angry. Make _them_ angry, stir up some trouble.”

She would hear the serpent gulp if it could, as it shook itself. She slumped back against the throne as Valefar began to gather his bag, his claws clicking against the floor. The snake didn’t move.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Leimor asked. Did she _have_ to do everything?

“I want a body.” Crawly hissed. Valefar practically froze where he stood. “Assss a reward, a body.”

 _The_ _audacity_ , was the first thought that ran through her head but she kept her thoughts quiet. The silence created fear quicker than words would, she had found out very early on. Most of the demons who kept with her in the castle were loyal but it was always good to keep them fearful.

She clicked her nails against the armrest of her throne, leaning back further against the metal. It had been forged by her own fire, made out of scrap metal she had scavenged in the ruins of this… castle.

Really, calling it a castle was an overstatement. It seemed that the immediate perimeter of Hell was some sort of amalgamation of Heaven, with it’s structuring. Leimor didn’t know about the rest of Hell but they probably spawned all sorts of monsters. 

Cause grief for Heaven in exchange for a body, she pondered the thought for a moment. She could hear Valefar exploding in outrage.

“...be grateful to be given the option to even appear in front of-” Valefar looked _pissed_ , she noticed with a tinge of amusement.

This had been happening more lately. Demons, especially the ones who had Fallen first, having outbursts of anger and rage. It had been just edging a century since the Fall [6] and the more time passed, the more people seemed to become _something else._

The Fall had been what twisted them, given them the potential, but it had been living here that really sent them spiralling.

She kicked a leg of her throne (there were three) with a foot, the sound ringing out across the hall. All of its occupants fell silent. 

“It will be completely random, you realise? None of it will be your choice, none of it will have any relation to your old body, not even if you choose a gender.” Leimor tilted her head, resting it her chin on her hand. “I can make _that_ happen.”

The serpent nodded - as well as a snake could, she curled her lip - desperately, eyes wide and she jerked her head, her jaw cracking as it did. She lowered her voice, trying to recreate her tone from Before. “Go, serve.”

Crawly scurried away.[7]

* * *

[1]Neither her nor Dagon had been very close but there was, you could say, a certain camaraderie between them. Respect.

[2] Leimor had three brothers, as you would say in the human tongue; nestmates, among angels. Anael, Hadiel and Korbuiel - she hadn't seen them since...

[3] [3]The palace looked more like an amalgamation of the Hall of Creation in Heaven, but worse. It had tall, lumbering spikes that swayed in the non-existent wind and walls looked like they had been blown apart. It was the only habitable building for miles - not counting the stumps that could've been castles.

[4] Blending creations with your own power was dangerous; it could overload it and cause an explosion (most dangerous among the stars) or could wreck through them and destabilise the entire thing. Leimor had laboured over it, piecing parts of herself within them.

[5] The lists were disorganised and scattered across her castle. She would run off memory.

[6] Time ran differently in Hell and Heaven. A year on earth was a few decades in Hell and not to mention, when the first Fallen arrived, the Garden hadn't even be completed. 

[7] She had received the news of the successful temptation with glee. Leimor had passed on the papers for a permanent body for the serpent. It was even more fun ticking the random boxes and suggestions - personally, Leimor thought it turned out quite good.


End file.
